Bitter Christmas

Across his body of work, Pedro Almodóvar has repeatedly examined the interplay between art, performance and identity. Creative expression would often function as a mirror for his characters to construct or understand their sense of self.

With the Spanish directing legend’s latest feature, Bitter Christmas, the viewer is gifted a strange present: a film in which a filmmaker (Raúl, played by Leonardo Sbaraglia) writes a film about another filmmaker (Elsa: Bárbara Lennie), who ended up in advertising before various circumstances lead her to make another film. Like a cinematic Russian nesting doll, one is hidden inside the other.

To continue the metaphor of the Christmas gift, Almodóvar’s endless layers of wrapping initially keep the audience guessing as to where the real offering of Bitter Christmas lies. Art and life are inseparable, and as one comes to understand each continually reshapes the other; however, something seems to be missing from this picture.

The guarded story Raúl is crafting about Elsa and her caring partner Bonifacio (Bird Box Barcelona’s Patrick Criado) betrays the excitement promised by his job as a stripper and the unconventional way the two met. With no real drive to explore their bond, he changes course halfway through and has Elsa’s friend Natalia (Milena Smit) materialise in the script out of thin air. She is clearly inspired by developments in Raúl’s assistant’s life, as seen by the way the character’s name changes in the manuscript – letters being typed and deleted over the unfolding scene. However, this vampiric urge to capitalise on someone else’s tragedy may end up costing Raúl the most important relationship of his career.

Although Raúl is established as a skilled and decorated director, this does not necessarily seem to be reflected in the piece we see him write. Until the movie reveals that therein lies its point.

Bitter Christmas is a brave experiment to try and deconstruct the fear of losing creative inspiration with age, when filmmakers are assumed to have their best work behind them. In order to turn mediocrity into an argument, Almodóvar has to deliberately deliver a predominantly tepid film to show the audience just how unsatisfactory art is without risk. Bitter Christmas makes a compelling argument that for a movie to truly work, the pain the filmmaker puts on screen must be his own, not cannibalised from the wounds of others.

While the concept of unmasking is brilliant and stands as a rallying cry against bland, uninspired cinema, what the viewer is ultimately left with is the experience of having watched a (for the most part) mediocre feature to make this point.

Selina Sondermann

Bitter Christmas is released nationwide on 28^th August 2026.

Watch the trailer for Bitter Christmas here: